Like Clockwork
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, and they'd probably look at me funny for this one, too.
Summary: In a world full of thrill-seekers, Alex is anything but. Boredom is security, and security comes with routine. And the Sanitarium opening up next door does not fit into the routine.
In a world full of thrill-seekers, souls hunting desperate for the next adrenaline rush, the next big excitement, Alex is anything but.
Boredom is a misnomer for the state better described as security. Excitement means risk, and risk means change.
And he has quite enough trouble remembering the mundane details amid the perplexing world of his thoughts and ideas already, thank-you kindly.
He's lucky; it seems like nothing's changed in months. Every season coming and going as it should, everyone in town saying always exactly what he expects, the only surprises coming through the work he's spent the past decade immersed in.
And occasionally, very occasionally, evenings with Robyn.
It's a little strange, just how occasional they are, when she's airily declared so often that she never works at night, because there's more than enough time in the day for all she has to do.
There are other strange things, too, like the sharp scent of a cologne he's never worn wafting out through the tiny crack in the door when she pokes her head out to tell him that she's a little busy right now for a surprise visit but thank-you anyway, honey.
And the little ruby necklace she hasn't taken off for months when she never used to wear jewellery, declaring it a silly extravagance until he gave up buying it for her.
And the longish brown hairs clinging to Dan's shoulders when he comes in for a check-up – after all, Eve's hair is pale as morning sunlight, and wavy, and Dan has made no secret about his elation that they're finally close enough to leave hairs on each other.
But Alex doesn't ask questions about any of it, because he knows Robyn must be lonely, relying on her workaholic boyfriend to make time for her. He's a little confused on when exactly he became a boyfriend, but he doesn't ask questions about that, either.
She'll settle down when they marry, and hopefully work will too, and they'll fall into the lulling safety of routine.
The Sanitarium opening up next door does not fit into the routine.
When he first found out about it via the strange little letters that people in this town send in lieu of walking the twenty steps across the street to visit their neighbours, he was hard-pressed to be terribly enthusiastic.
Despite Robyn's reproachful reminder that change is exciting, honey, and her suggestions that the new nurse might have some exciting new ideas for the Clinic, or that the patient might have a very rare illness that could help him make medical history.
But a head nurse with ideas could be an exhausting creature, and a patient with the potential to make medical history doubly, so he still isn't terribly enthusiastic.
All of his cringing had not stopped the opening date from creeping up, though, and Martha was right: there was no reason to send this mysterious Gina Forester and her mysterious Dia Gevora fleeing at first sight of the place.
A lacy curtain here, a colourful painting there, a little plaster cat to stand sentinel on the top of the desk…
He's just finished moving the tiny plaster tabby back to the upper left-hand corner from the right, when the click of the door opening sends him straightening abruptly, with a slightly forced smile.
The planned generic welcome dies on his lips as the young woman in the doorway shuffles nervously into the airy main level, still sparsely decorated and smelling of fresh paint.
She ducks slightly behind her curled fist at his gaze fixed intently on her, but he can still see the smile in her eyes, wide and curious behind round wire-rimmed glasses as she introduces herself as not Miss Forester, please, just Gina.
When he crosses the room in a few long strides, inches away and looming at least a foot and a half over her despite the lankiness that followed him from adolescence, introducing himself as yes, I'm the doctor, but please call me Alex if you like, her cheeks grow slightly pink.
His own face feels warm, his head strangely light, and his subconscious already busy rewriting the past few weeks to erase any trace of misgivings at the thought of her arrival.
You must have noticed that Miss Dia isn't here, she pipes up into the silence, and he hasn't, but nods anyway, and it transpires that Miss Dia will be visiting with some relatives for a few weeks, so for now it's just her.
You say that as though it's a bad thing, he thinks, but doesn't say, because he hasn't any business even thinking that sort of thing, about how nice it would be to spend time alone with this girl, with he and Robyn being on-again right now.
Then again, he probably also has no business being so captivated by that tiny softpink smile, or those softly shining honeybrown eyes. No business being so fascinated by the curve of her waist where the strings of her prim white apron pull the fabric tightly to her slim, curvy little shape.
No business feeling like every prayer in his life has been answered at once, when she bends over to retrieve the little suitcase she left out on the doorstep.
Can I help you unpack?
Maybe, if he acts like a gentleman, he'll become one, and his mind will stop wandering to parts of helpless young girls that it shouldn't dwell on.
Oh...that would be very nice. Thank-you, Doctor.
Alex.
Doctor Alex?
And out of nowhere, he's laughing.
It's a nice afternoon, hauling in boxes and books and pots that are as familiar to him as breathing, and they swap recipes and stories and super-secret cure-alls while they organize her supplies and equipment on the wide wooden shelves, after they're finished wrangling about whether to arrange them alphabetically by name or by ailment.And maybe it's because he understands her, because he's spent the afternoon listening very attentively, that she offers him a cup of tea and some cookies, eyes wide and very hopeful even as she muffles a yawn.
You've been travelling all day; you must be exhausted. I should go.
And he runs.
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He's been craving tea all evening.
And somehow, the hot cocoa and the orange soda Robyn offered in its place because it tastes so much better isn't doing the trick.
But the evening is still lovely. The air is light and fragrant and cool with a slight breeze as they rock idly back and forth in the porch swing she invested in recently because it looked so nice on that house in town!
When she shifts slightly, he glances down, and the mass of longish brown spilling over his shoulder gives him a start.
Why on earth is pale blue stuck in his mind?
"So, how did it go?"
He hesitates.
"Fine."
The one-word answer tells nothing, but the slight flush in his cheeks and his badly kept secret weakness for a pretty girl in glasses speak volumes, and Robyn understands.
Maybe more than he wants her to.
She grins.
"Don't get too attached."
Definitely more than he wants her to.
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End Notes: And that's all for now. I don't know if this warrants continuing. I'm having fun with it, so I'll probably write the rest, but if it's really ghastly bad, I won't inflict it upon the internet. As my good deed for the year. :)
